


can i have a piece of toast

by weerwolfs



Category: American Werewolf in London (1981)
Genre: fuck david 🤣🤣 ugly little bitch, he basically looks the way he did in his limbo form, jack is obviously badly injured in this, jack x reader because i miss him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:15:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25201531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weerwolfs/pseuds/weerwolfs
Summary: au where jack doesn’t die after he’s attacked by the werewolf , and you’re a nurse at the hospital.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> my first time writing x reader..... hope this don’t go too badly 😒

The two American boys were deemed top priority the instant they were committed. Or rather- one of them was deemed a top priority. The glance you’d taken at him on his way in was enough to put you off fresh meat for days. What could once have been a scrawny, dark-haired young man looked more a tasteless work of abstract painting than a living being. Face and torso torn apart, two deep wounds stretching across either side of his right eye. He was more dead than alive.

You’d better get used to this sight. You’d be seeing it a lot. You were to care for his needs inbetween the surgeries and the stitching and whatever else this poor man would need to look anything like he once did. You tell yourself that things could’ve been a lot worse for him. He could’ve died on the scene before he was admitted. Then again- he could, and would likely, go on to die here as well. You remind yourself not to get attached if he were to ever regain consciousness; seeing a real person, beyond just a body, would do nothing but hurt you when the time would come for him to leave, whether it be to his family in the States or to the arms of death.


	2. jack

Jack Goodman.

27.

Male.

Residing in New York City.

3 weeks since commencement of treatment. 

Subject has not regained consciousness.

You've spent so many days looking at Jack's face you've begun to see it in your dreams. It doesn't help that you've begun to develop an embarrassing little crush on him either, which is exactly what you warned yourself against. The way his dark hair falls in little curls over his forehead, over the bandages that you remove and apply each day, over the throbbing stitches across his face and chest. The way his thin pink lips twitch as though he were laughing, quietly, somewhere deep inside where no one else can see or hear it. 

The other American has already awoken. His friend. He's still confined to his bed, but glad to hear Jack's alive. 

You wonder how alive Jack really is.


	3. consciousness

5 weeks. Patient has regained consciousness.

The other American was been picked up by his family a week ago. He came in to say goodbye to Jack, still unconscious, shake his limp hand, say sorry over and over and over before being called out.

You were not in the room when Jack first woke. But now it's your turn to see him- your heart's been beating hard in your chest all morning as you got ready, but now as you approach his room with a cup of pills you feel like you're about to pass out. You turn the corner and slowly open the door to his room.

"Mr. Goodman?"

Jack is laying on his bed, hands folded across his chest, staring blankly up at the sky. Bandages are sloppily taped across his face. Another nurse had come in here before you. You feel a twinge of... anger? frustration? jealousy? It's a silly feeling nonetheless and you push it aside.

"Mr Goodman, are you awake?" 

"Yeah," he says. He doesn't even look at you. Your blood runs cold as you walk over to him, pour out a glass of water, and offer him the pills.

"You've got to take these," you say, quietly. The fact that he hasn't even looked you in the eye hurts you more than it should.

Without a word, Jack takes the pills. He reaches for the glass in your hand and you feel his warm fingers against your own. You feel the hairs on your arms raise and you fight back an audible shudder.

"Feeling alright, Jack?" you ask.

Fuck. 

"Mr. Goodman. Sorry," you correct yourself quickly. Oh, god. You're blushing now. You feel your skin glowing red-hot.

"Jack's fine," he says. 

He turns to look at you and you finally get to peer into his eyes.

Brown, with flecks of ginger around his pupils.

Tired. Lifeless.

Shit. You've been staring at his eyes for too long now.

"Are you alright, Jack?" you finally ask.

"Yeah, sure," Jack says. "I'm alive."

"That's a relief," you say. 

Jack looks away with a bleak, grim smile.

"I'm going to change your bandages, Jack," you tell him.

"Go ahead," he sighs. "I can't stop you."

"You can. If it hurts, just tell me, and I'll stop." You make your way across to the other side of the bed, kneel beside him and bring out a new sheet of bandages.

"Thanks," he says.

You peel back the old bandages. Jack winces. You hear the intake of his breath, feel his breath on your arm as he sighs. You've been this close to him before- hell, you've been this close to him every day of the past five weeks- but this is different. He knows, this time. He's awake and he's feeling and he's moving and he's seeing you, just like how you can see him. 

You begin to dress the wound.

"Your friend David was discharged the other day," you tell him.

"I know," he says coldly. His tone does not hold resentment towards his friend, but rather for the situation he himself is in- that of being alone.

As you work, Jack winces and jerks away and shudders under your hand.

"Just tell me if it hurts too much, okay?" you say softly.

"Okay," he says.

When you're done, you begin to apply the bandages. 

"Those old bandages were applied terribly," you say. "Must've been really uncomfortable."

"I don't really notice all that." Jack's lightened up a little. You understand why he's acting like this, all quiet- but you can't help but feel a selfish relief as he begins to talk with you more. You don't want to push it- but it's nice to hear his voice. 

"Hopefully this'll feel nicer, okay?" you reassure him. "Just hold still."

"Yeah, okay." A smile dances at the corners of his lips. "Got it. Holding still"

His skin is soft under your hand- it's always been, but now that you've put a voice to a person, it seems softer, more delicate, something you must take more care with. You're careful, so as not to hurt Jack more than you already have. 

When you finish, you step back and look at your work. Actually- that's a lie. You're looking at him. And after a moment's silence, he's looking right back at you.

"Something wrong? he asks.

"No." You shake your head.

He smiles at you.

"What's your name?" He speaks around a toothy grin.

"Y/n," you tell him.

"I'll see you later, y/n."

You make for the door. You get one last look at him over your shoulder as you walk out.  
He's smiling as he watches you go.

That’s it. You’re attached.


End file.
